Diamond in the Rough
by MoonytheMarauder1
Summary: A collection of rare pairs. KingsleyBarty Jr, FabianAmelia, ViktorBill, LuciusPetunia, DracoVernon, ArthurNarcissa, AnthonyHannah, ArgusPomona, KingsleyJames, BellatrixJames, LuciusRabastan, CharlieDaphne (cover), NarcissaAlice, PercyDraco, ArthurLucius, LavenderSeamusParvati, BillTonks, KingsleySirius, KingsleyRemus, MollyNarcissa, BillHarry
1. Ready to Start Again?

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. **

**Media Studies 4: Write about an important photograph**

**Word Count: 884**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.**

**So… this takes place after the war. I sort of have a headcanon that, if the individual can get over the trauma their body has suffered, victims of the Dementor's Kiss can still function. This story deals with the beginning of that emotional journey for Barty Crouch Jr. **

**WARNINGS: Dementor's Kiss references, general angst**

**Thanks to Angela for beta'ing :)**

**Enjoy!**

"What's that?"

Barty looked up at the deep voice, caught off guard. He wasn't used to hearing human voices—not unless they were screaming or cackling hollowly. Those were the things he could remember. Beside flashes from Azkaban, his memories were… gone.

He shuddered and looked over at the man who'd spoken. Barty liked this man best, so far. He didn't sound like he wanted anything, or like he hated Barty for something he couldn't remember. He was patient, and kind, and though Barty knew that he wasn't a whole person any longer, this man made him feel like he wasn't so far gone.

Kingsley. Kingsley Shacklebolt. That was his name. Names slipped through Barty's fingers so easily sometimes, like water through cracks in his mind. But he always seemed to be able to grasp Kingsley's.

Barty glanced down at the photograph in his hand, surprised, like he'd forgotten it was there until Kingsley drew attention to it. "A picture. Of my mother, they said."

His voice was flat and quiet. It wasn't expressive. It lacked soul—which, Barty thought, was ironic.

"I see." Kingsley knelt down beside Barty and put a dark hand on his shoulder. The Minister of Magic hesitated. "I'm sure this is difficult for you. There must be things you want to remember."

There were. Who he'd been before, why this woman was important enough to be hidden away in the pocket of his coat, where everything had gone wrong… He was a blank slate.

He wanted a history. He wanted a sense of direction.

But how could he explain all that to Kingsley?

"Do you see me as an experiment?"

The question surprised both of them. Kingsley reeled back, shock written all over his face. "What?"

"Am I just a new discovery of magic to you? The empty shell Healers have discovered isn't quite as empty as everyone had always believed?"

Kingsley's lips thinned. "Of course not. Give me more credit than that, please."

Barty frowned. It had been Kingsley's idea, he knew, to see if the Dementor's Kiss was as destructive as everyone thought. The victims were still alive, after all. There was still a heart beating. Kingsley had wanted to know if saving them was possible.

After months of extensive care that Barty only had the vaguest recollection of, they discovered that it was. He was a living, breathing person, capable of emotions and making memories.

Which led to the next question: what is a soul? What, exactly, had been ripped from Barty?

No one was sure. The Kiss itself was nearly lethal, but living without a soul seemingly wasn't.

_Expression_, the Healers would murmur as they jotted notes down on their clipboards. _Expression is where the trouble is. The emotion is there, trapped. _

Barty privately agreed with this assessment. His words were occasionally tinted with anger or hopelessness, but he couldn't seem to find the will to just _be open_. Sometimes Barty thought his soul was simply his _self_. Without it, nothing mattered much. He'd lost his motivation.

Kingsley hadn't given up on him though, which confused him more than he was ready to admit.

Kingsley sighed from beside him. Barty shifted on the mattress of the St. Mungo's bed with discomfort—the Minister's concern for him always made him feel like he should be happy, or grateful, or… something. But he just couldn't figure out what he was feeling. Then Kingsley's black eyes met his blue, grounding him. And then the Minister spoke.

"This" —he pointed to the photograph— "is proof that you are part of a family, that there was always something there worth saving. Even when you made… less than favorable choices, you carried her picture around because she meant something to you."

Barty glanced back down at the photograph. His mother was smiling shyly up at him, her straw-colored hair shining in the sunlight.

She made Barty wonder. As far as he knew, he'd done something terrible to warrant the Dementor's Kiss. Did this woman see someone more than the troubled man he must have been? Why had he cared about her so much?

But as much as she was his past, she was also his hope for the future. Could he one day be the son she wanted? Was healing possible?

Kingsley's hand went to cover Barty's. "We decide our own future," he murmured. "What happens next is up to you. But… everyone who is capable of love deserves a second chance."

Barty bit his lip. Maybe Kingsley was right. Maybe all he had to do to begin this journey was believe that he could make it through. This was his path to pave—no one else's.

He looked down at the picture of his mother. She believed in him, once—he could feel it in his bones. It was time to start again, to prove that he was worthy of her blind faith. And maybe along the way, he would find those answers he'd been searching for.

Barty's blue eyes—so empty of emotion before—were now beginning to glean some determination. He looked directly at Kingsley.

"I want to try," he croaked. "I want to try to get better… to _be_ better."

The grin that spread across the other man's face was more than worth the difficulties that were to come. And Barty… he felt ready.


	2. Your Eyes

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. **

**Art Therapy Task 1: Write an artist!au**

**Word Count: 974**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.**

**Thanks to Angela for beta'ing :)**

**Enjoy!**

Amelia could spend her entire life trying to figure out Fabian Prewett and have no success. The man was a mystery—his charming grin and quick wit was in sharp contrast to her cooler, calmer demeanor, but he was still everywhere she looked. She couldn't escape him, no matter how hard she tried.

Edgar was to blame, she decided. It was his fault she'd met Fabian, after all. Her brother had thought it'd be funny to tell the red-headed man that she would make a challenging subject for his amateur artwork.

Fabian, it seemed, wasn't interested in dismissing such a challenge.

One Friday evening, Amelia exited the Ministry and glanced to her left, catching sight of familiar twinkling brown eyes. She stopped on the sidewalk, huffed, and waited for the man to catch up.

"This is getting old, you know," she said briskly.

Fabian laughed, a freckled hand retrieving the pencil from behind his ear. "What? You don't like it when I wait for you after work?"

"If it was just after work, it wouldn't be a problem," she mumbled.

Fabian only grinned at her and cocked his head towards a nearby bench. Amelia sighed, but sat down. The Order member put pencil to paper and continued working on his sketch.

After a few minutes of silence, Amelia cleared her throat. "Remind me again why I agreed to this?"

Fabian smiled, but didn't look up from his work. "You said that the sooner I finish, the sooner you'll be free of me."

Amelia nodded. "Ah, yes. I remember now. And how is that coming along for you?"

Fabian did glance up at her then—the look he gave her was full of mirth. "I'll be finished when I'm finished."

Amelia tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear. This entire ordeal made her uncomfortable; she had never been described as attractive. It hadn't bothered her since her teenage years, but the way Fabian would analyze her like she was something to be treasured… it stirred something deep within her. She'd seen glimpses of the unfinished portrait; there was so much careful attention to detail, it overwhelmed her.

The wind picked up suddenly, whipping her hair about her face and lifting up the page Fabian was working on. He flattened it with his hand and stubbornly kept working. Amelia's blue eyes squinted against the cool wind as she looked at the Order member.

"I think there's a storm coming," she called. "Perhaps we should end this for today—"

"I'm nearly done. I promise," Fabian said, some of his hair falling into his eyes. Amelia relented.

"Fine, but hurry—it wouldn't do us any good if that thing got wet."

Fabian nodded distractedly, but otherwise didn't respond. The sky grew darker, and after a minute or two Amelia could have sworn she felt raindrops. Finally, she decided that Edgar would kill her if she let one of his valuable Order members catch a cold and stood up.

"Fabian," she called out to him, "we need to leave. We'll be caught in the rain at any moment, and since this is Muggle London we can't Apparate."

He glanced up at her, hesitating, then reluctantly placed the paper back in his pocket. "Right, yes. Where should we go?"

Amelia bit her lip, thinking. "There's a bus stop nearby," she began slowly. "We might be able to catch one to my brother's flat before the rain hits too hard."

Fabian hurried to catch up with her as she began walking in that direction. "Edgar's?"

She shook her head. "I've more than one brother, you know. Don't worry, you'll like him—and his darling daughter, Susan."

Fabian smiled. "You're fond of your niece, then?"

"I love all of my nieces and nephews," she confirmed. She spotted the bus stop a short distance away and pointed at it with a gloved hand. "Ah, there we are. Hopefully a bus will arrive shortly."

They waited beneath the small structure as rain began trickling down. Amelia smoothed her hair back from her face, aware of Fabian watching her. "Is there something you'd like to say?"

He jumped, then laughed at himself. "No… no, sorry. But," he added almost as an afterthought, "do you… do you really hate these sessions so much?"

He almost looked scared to ask, which got Amelia's own heart pounding. This was exactly the sort of question she'd wanted to avoid.

Nevertheless, Amelia worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—she believed in upholding the truth, and not a twisted one at that. So she answered him honestly.

"I don't mind, not once we've started. It simply baffles me that you keep coming back." She turned to look at him pointedly. "I've seen the paper. I know that it's pretty much finished."

Fabian looked surprised. He opened and closed his mouth, as though struggling to find the words he wanted to say. Finally, he chuckled lowly.

"Amelia, I just can't get your eyes right."

She frowned sharply, caught off guard. "What?"

Fabian laughed again, louder this time. "Your eyes, I can't get them right. I've been struggling for a week now, but I just can't get them to convey your seriousness, devotion, loyalty—and everything else that makes you, you." His expression softened, and he held a hand out, almost as if he wanted her to take it. "I want this to do you justice."

"Do you spend so much time getting your other subjects' features just right?" Her voice was hushed. She wasn't sure how strong her feelings for this man were, but he was making her feel _something_.

Fabian shot her a lopsided grin. "It's only been you for a long time now."

Amelia's dark brows rose slightly as she tried to come up with a response. Eventually, she reached out and brushed her fingertips against his.

It was enough for now.


	3. Unexpected Encounter

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts.**

**Criminology Task 6: Write about a bad, split-second decision**

**Word Count: 676**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling**

**Note: I did my best with Krum's accent. Truly, I did. **

**WARNINGS: Mild violence, concussion**

**Enjoy!**

When Bill opened his eyes, he was momentarily blinded by the light. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes, squinting at walls that were much too white. He struggled to sit up, then nearly had a heart attack when a heavily accented voice spoke.

"I vould not do that, if I vere you. You hit your head very hard."

Bill looked over sharply, wincing at the stab of pain the motion sent through his head. At his bedside was a tall, dark-haired man he vaguely recognized, though he couldn't imagine why.

Bill swallowed thickly. "Who—who are you? Where am I?"

The man stuck out a hand, which Bill shook. "My name is Viktor Krum. You are Bill Veasley?"

Bill blinked. "Er. Yes. Where…"

Viktor's dark, thick eyebrows furrowed slightly. "The hospital. Do you remember vot happened?"

Bill thought about it for a moment, struggling to remember. "Er…"

* * *

_It was dark out, the moon a mere sliver in the sky. The darkness didn't put Bill off, though—he was a confident young man. Unshakeable. Brave. _

_So, really, when he heard the sound of a muffled scuffle and an accented voice trying desperately to reason with someone, it wasn't much of a surprise that he jumped right in. _

_Four men in an alley were cornering another. Bill watched the lone man carefully. He looked strong and cut an impressive figure, but clearly didn't stand a chance against his four attackers; there were just too many of them. Two of the men grabbed the victim's arms as another reached towards his pockets._

_Bill decided to jump in. _

_His fist slammed into the side of one bloke's head, eliciting a shout from the man. He turned swiftly towards Bill, a stronger, more practiced punch at the ready. Bill only barely managed to duck, dimly aware that the other three robbers were racing towards him. Arms grabbed onto Bill, pinning him down. He struggled against their grip, but his slight frame wasn't enough to break free. He looked up just in time to see a fist hurtling towards his face, and then—darkness. _

* * *

"Oh." Bill winced at his own mortification—now that he was seeing him in the light of day (or, rather, the fluorescent lights of the hospital room), he realized that the man he'd tried to rescue was really quite fit. "Yeah, I remember. Hey, did they still end up…"

A small, slightly sarcastic smile crossed Viktor's features. "They took my vallet, yes."

Bill grimaced. "Sorry about that, mate."

Viktor shrugged and scratched the side of his long nose. "There vas nothing vorth stealing in there, anyvay." He hesitated, his dark eyes full of an unrecognizable emotion. "Thank you for helping."

Bill flushed and ran a hand through his long red hair. He flinched when his fingers brushed against a bump on his head. "Some help I was," he murmured. Then he looked up at Viktor. "I should be thanking _you_. You're the one who called the ambulance?"

Viktor nodded slowly. "Yes. I vas… very vorried. You vere not waking up."

Bill laughed a bit awkwardly. "Right, yeah. Sorry about that—it wasn't my best idea." He mentally kicked himself. All he could do was apologize, it seemed.

To his surprise, Viktor chuckled softly. It was a breathy sound that Bill didn't expect from a man his size; he liked it. "Don't be sorry. I do not regret our meeting."

Before Bill could decipher that, Viktor continued, standing up. "I should be going. Your family vill be here soon—the authorities were able to call them, seeing as those men forgot to steal _your_ vallet." Dark eyes sparkled with mirth. Viktor pulled something out of his pocket and placed it down on the bedside table. "Goodbye, Bill. I hope ve vill meet again soon."

As soon as Viktor was gone and the nurse that had come to check on him was gone, Bill's hand shot out to grab the paper. As he read what was written there, a slow smile spread across his freckled features.

A phone number.

It made the concussion worth it.


	4. Time to be Free

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. **

**Defense Against the Dark Arts Task 1: Write about somebody trying to concentrate on something difficult (Petunia writing her letter, Lucius and his paperwork)**

**Word Count: 745**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling. **

**WARNINGS: Slightly controlling relationship**

**Thanks to Grace for beta'ing!**

**Enjoy!**

Petunia tried to keep the tears from falling as she picked up a pen and grabbed a piece of stationery. Her hand hovered over the pristine white paper as she hesitated, unsure how to put her feelings into words.

Lucius was a room away, sitting in his office as he concentrated on his paperwork from the Ministry. He'd groaned all night about how gruelling it was, never once stopping to ask her how her day had been.

Once upon a time, he would have. Once upon a time, she'd felt loved by him. But not anymore.

There had been something so romantic about their forbidden romance at first. He was a wizard of the highest esteem; she was a Muggle his family would disapprove of. Sneaking around had been thrilling. It was an excitement Petunia had never felt before. She'd been so happy—even her relationship with Lily had improved. Magic didn't seem so unnatural when someone as distinguished as Lucius was performing it.

But shortly after moving in with the man, Petunia realized that Lucius meant to hide her from the rest of the world. He was ashamed.

Petunia couldn't live as someone's best kept secret.

She heard his quill scratching against parchment and could suddenly, with perfect clarity, picture him hunched over his desk, blond hair spilling over his shoulders and brow furrowed. It was almost enough to have her give up on writing the letter. Almost.

She swallowed thickly and wrote the first two words in her careful handwriting. _Dear Lucius._

She hesitated again. What should she say? How could she explain? Their relationship had been splintering for months now; surely he must know that this was coming?

She shook her head slightly and moved the pen across paper. _I've had such a lovely time with you over these last two years._

And my, they _had_ been lovely. Picnics in secluded areas, dancing in the cover of darkness, and more laughter than Petunia had ever imagined would leave her mouth. And the way he smiled at her… it made her blush just thinking about it.

But those days had ended. Now her world was a dark, empty house and a lover who had to pretend he was alone to avoid causing a scandal. Her resolve thickened and she tried to keep her thoughts from distracting her again.

_Those years have gone, now. I still love you, but I won't be the thing you hide away. I'm worth more than that. You have proven that, given a choice between your own happiness and your reputation, you would choose your reputation every time. _

Coughing sounded from the next room.

"Petunia? Could I have my afternoon tea, please?"

His voice was impatient, aggravated—which infuriated Petunia. He was mad at his paperwork, not her, and was completely blind to the emotional crisis she was having. But she just called out sweetly, "In a minute, dear. I'll start then."

Her hands were beginning to shake. _I want to have a partner who is proud to be seen with me, and I have finally realized that I can't find that in you. _

She would miss the way he played with her blonde hair before bed. She would miss the way he held her hair back when she was sick, and how he always did laundry (without magic) just because he didn't want her to have to.

Her grip tightened on her pen. No. Those kindnesses were long gone, and the sooner she accepted that, the better.

_So it is with these words that I leave you. _

_Yours, _

She paused before signing her name. How would Lucius react? Would he follow her?

She glanced behind her. She could just barely make out his silhouette in the doorway, his back to her.

No, she decided. If he was that invested in the relationship, he'd have made more of an effort.

She swallowed.

_Petunia._

She turned the kettle on, the letter clutched in her shaking hand. She walked into the bedroom she shared with Lucius and placed the paper, neatly folded, onto his pillow.

She walked back out and poked her head in the door of his study. "The water's boiling," she said calmly. "I'm going to nip out for a moment."

Lucius looked up sharply, half concerned, half annoyed at being interrupted. "Don't be seen," he warned her.

She nodded and stepped outside—then just kept walking. There was nothing to turn back to, after all. It was time to be free.


	5. Calm After the Storm

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Also… blame Amber for the pairing :P**

**Word Count: 607**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling. **

**Unbeta'd. Sorry :/**

**Squib!au**

**Enjoy!**

Draco took along sip from his coffee, shuddering at the heat. There were dark bags under his eyes, and his blond hair was unkempt, which was uncharacteristic of him. Still, he had an appointment to keep, and he wasn't going to miss it because of sleep deprivation.

It wasn't everyday his lover was off work, after all.

Draco ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. His schedule didn't seem to coincide with Vernon's at all lately, but they were trying. It was better than nothing, and if there was anything the older man understood, it was the importance of work. Draco was grateful to him for that.

He smiled a little to himself at the thought of Vernon. He was twenty-two years Draco's senior, but that hadn't stopped them the two of them from hitting it off. Draco had met him a year ago at a bar he'd been working at then. Vernon had come in and ordered his drink, then gruffly told Draco he looked like he could use one himself.

Draco hadn't thought much of it at the time, but Vernon bought him one at the end of his shift and then just… let him be. It was a completely random act of kindness that he later learned was rare for the older man, but one thing led to another, and… there they were.

The bell above the shop door rang, ripping Draco from his musings. He looked up and, upon spotting the figure in the doorway, smiled.

Vernon made his way over and sat in the chair across from Draco, accepting the cup of coffee the younger man handed him. Vernon's eyes squinted slightly as he took in the thirty-year-old Squb.

"What's wrong?"

Draco smiled, but it was strained. "Just lost in thought. It's been a long day," he added.

Vernon nodded slowly. He took a sip of his drink, his large hands dwarfing the cup. His voice was much softer than usual when he said, "Did you get another one of those ruddy letters?"

Draco winced. Though he'd been kicked out of the Malfoy family home when he turned seventeen, he tried to keep up correspondence with his parents. Sometimes they responded, but never without a scathing remark.

A Squib, after all, was worthless in their eyes. Worthless, shameful, and every other adjective in between. Draco had believed it, too, until he'd gotten to know Vernon. The other man helped him to realize that the thing that his family called mundane was the very thing that made him so special. After all, the majority of the world was made up of Muggles—wizards were the abnormal ones.

It was the same reason that led his parents to think that pureblood wizards were more superior to Muggleborns, after all.

And he had received a letter today. All it did was remind him of all that he'd lost.

Suddenly, Vernon's hand was on his own. "Your parents are fools to keep turning you away. Look at you." He gestured to Draco so enthusiastically that a couple strands of steely grey hair fell over his forehead. "You're successful in your job, you've proven yourself independent in the real world… you've made it. And anyone who says differently can bloody well—"

Draco leaned over the table and silenced him with a quick kiss. "I get the picture," he murmured. "Thank you."

Vernon's mustache quirked up a bit when he smiled, and he gave Draco a rough nod.

Vernon wasn't the best at expressing affection—neither was Draco—but it shone clearly in his eyes.

And in this complicated, troubled world, Draco was glad that he'd found his normalcy.


	6. The Things We Lose

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. **

**Criminology Task 9: (dialogue) "Consent is sexy."**

**Word Count: 812**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling. **

**WARNINGS: Mentions of a controlling relationship, mentions of non-consensual kissing**

**Thanks to Anna for beta'ing!**

**Enjoy!**

"_Consent_ is sexy."

Narcissa's eyes were glued on her lap, but she let out a watery chuckle when she heard Arthur Weasley's words. "You heard, then?"

She heard Arthur lower himself down on the grass beside her. The bright, sunny day contrasted sharply with her mood, but she was glad that the ground was dry. The last thing she needed was to get her robes muddy.

Arthur's hands were fluttering about—it was a nervous habit of his, one that Narcissa was fond of. The tentative friendship she'd formed with the Gryffindor in her first year had only grown stronger as the years progressed. Now her feelings toward him were stronger than she thought wise, due to the impossibility of following them through.

Good pureblood girls did not fall in love with blood traitors, no matter how adorably awkward they were.

But she was engaged to Lucius Malfoy. Arthur couldn't even exist that way with her in a fantasy.

The seventeen-year-old closed her eyes at the thought of her fiance. Lucius' behavior earlier… he knew that this was strictly a convenience marriage, but he still paraded her around on his arm, stole kisses from her between classes… and obviously Arthur had caught wind of it.

"I can't stop him," she said suddenly, firmly. "You know I can't. My family needs this marriage to work."

A flash of pain washed over Arthur's features, but it quickly disappeared. Narcissa wondered if she had imagined it. "But is it worth your happiness?" he asked her softly. "Are you just going to compromise yourself for the sake of keeping a bloodline 'pure'?"

Narcissa sighed heavily. He had good intentions, she knew, but he had never understood the world she came from, or the fact that leaving her home was harder in practice. "I can't just abandon my family."

Arthur didn't respond. He took off his glasses, cleaned them, then replaced them. "Are they really your family," he began softly, "if your happiness is taking the backseat? Family is made up of the people who care about you—it isn't determined by the blood you share."

She twisted her blonde hair in her hands—now _her_ nervous habits were coming out. "I can't leave them. Arthur, I can't. There's too much at stake."

Arthur drew his knees up to his chest. His blue eyes held a sadness she had never seen in them before. "It's never mattered to me, you know," he whispered. "It's never mattered to me that your family is disapproving of me, or that it would be difficult to be with you. I don't care about the challenges."

Narcissa turned to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He knew. He knew how she felt, and he was telling her that he wanted the same thing… that he'd thought extensively about it…

But the things people want are rarely the things they get.

"It's not possible," she whispered, unwanted tears brimming in her eyes. "You know it's not. Listen, Arthur, you…" She took a deep, steadying breath, but all the while felt like her world was crashing down. "You will always hold a special place in my heart." Her voice broke, but she barrelled on. "But you need to move on. My future is with Lucius, and… and you need to find someone else to love."

He could do it, she knew. He could fall so in love with another girl if he let himself.

It didn't matter how much that truth hurt her.

His red hair fell into his eyes as he looked over at her. "Are you sure?"

Narcissa looked away. "I'm marrying him," she vowed. "You… you can't stop me."

She watched Arthur's hand close around a clump of grass. "Is this the end of us, then?"

His voice was even and carefully controlled, but Narcissa could hear the fear and anguish in his words.

She hung her head and pretended her heart wasn't breaking in two. "Yes."

Arthur nodded slowly, seemingly ten years older than he was when he'd sat down. He got to his feet, but before he left for the castle, he glanced down at her.

"Promise me you'll speak with him about your boundaries," he whispered. "If you have to marry the man…" He swallowed. "Fine. But you don't need to bow to him. Make sure he knows that."

Narcissa thought about what he'd said. Maybe it wasn't the girl that was sexy, like Lucius seemed to think. Maybe it was her confidence. And Arthur was right—she couldn't just lose her sense of self to please a husband she didn't want.

Things would have to change—she was going to be in charge, and she needed to make sure Lucius understood that.

But even with her new epiphany, she couldn't help but feel very, very small as Arthur Weasley, her first and closest friend, walked out of her life forever.


	7. Take A Chance

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. **

**Word Count: 1156**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.**

**This is a Muggle!au**

**Thanks to Grace for beta'ing!**

**Enjoy!**

The sun was shining brightly through the train window, blinding Anthony. His dark eyes squinted against the light until he gave up and turned his head the other way. He tried not to appear as though he was staring at the woman beside him, but feared that he was failing.

Anthony sighed heavily and ran a hand through his black hair. Anxious for something to do, he took his journal out of the side pocket of his suitcase and began writing nonsense down—to-do lists that would never be completed, the names of everyone he knew, objects he saw around him… anything to make him look busy.

He glanced to his right after a few minutes and noticed that the blonde-haired woman beside him was writing furiously in a notebook of her own. By the look of the pages, she was doing something a bit more important than listing the number of windows she could see.

Suddenly, the train lurched to a halt, startling both Anthony and the woman. Their notebooks fell from their laps, and both leaned over quickly to retrieve the books from the floor as the aisle filled with people.

Their fingers brushed awkwardly together, and the woman ripped her hand away. "Oh, sorry," she murmured. "Sorry—this is my stop." She hurried off before Anthony could even respond to the small smile she sent his way, and he watched the back of her head until she disappeared.

He shook his head at himself and settled back in his seat for the remainder of his journey. When it was his stop, he grabbed his luggage and hurried through the station, hoping that Michael had been considerate enough to send a car over; it was too hot to search for transportation.

As it turned out, his friend hadn't been. With a sigh and an eye roll, Anthony managed to find a cab, and after he rattled off the address of his friend's home, he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.

* * *

"Anthony, I can't believe you," Michael crowed. "You grabbed the poor girl's _diary?_"

His face hot, Anthony spluttered. "Well, technically she grabbed mine first—"

Michael took a bite of the biscuit he was holding, a grin on his face. "Bad luck, mate. What are you going to do about it?"

Anthony shrugged helplessly and grabbed a biscuit for himself from the plate on the table. "Can I do anything? I don't even know her name."

Michael's green eyes were sparkling with mischief. "Her name's probably inside, you know. You could look."

Anthony scowled. "Isn't that… wrong?"

"Isn't what wrong?"

Both men looked over to see Padma Patil letting herself into the room. Michael's face lit up when he saw her. "Anthony took some poor woman's diary by mistake. She took his journal."

Padma paused, her long black hair in a plait down her back. "That's unfortunate, but I don't see why it's wrong."

Anthony cleared his throat. "Michael thinks I should look inside to see who it belongs to."

Padma's mouth formed a little "o" of understanding. "Well, I can see why you'd be uncomfortable, Anthony, but I really think that it'd make you more uncomfortable to keep it—"

"Besides, you could be missing your chance at romance," Michael quipped, lacing his fingers through his girlfriend's. "You return her diary, she falls madly in love with you—"

Anthony groaned and glared at his friend. "Someone shut him up, please," he grumbled, looking imploringly at Padma. But she just shrugged.

"He's being difficult, but I do think you should try to find the girl. Do you remember what stop she got off at?"

Anthony thought for a moment. "I think the one right before mine."

Padma smiled. "Look for a name in the book. Then you can start searching."

Anthony bit his lip and opened the book. There, right on the first page in elegant handwriting read, _Hannah Abbott._ Underneath was an address.

Padma grinned. "I think it's fairly clear where you should start."

* * *

Anthony made it all the way to her front door before he lost his nerve.

What if this was an old address? What if the diary had first belonged to a relative, one long dead? There were too many factors here—too many things that could go wrong. He shouldn't risk it.

Just as he was about to turn away, a familiar voice spoke from behind him.

"Oh! Hello. Can I help you—oh! You have it. Wow."

Her blue eyes were glued on the diary, and Anthony grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. We have the same one, it seems—you grabbed mine on the train by mistake." He faltered slightly. "You're Hannah Abbott?"

She nodded. "And you're…?"

He cleared his throat. "Anthony Goldstein. Nice to meet you."

She smiled, and Anthony's heart beat a little quicker. "And you. Sorry about that, by the way. I was in such a rush to get everything ready for tonight—a few friends of mine are coming from out of town," she explained.

Anthony nodded and handed her the notebook. Hannah smiled briefly at him, then tilted her head to the side. "Care to come in? I promise I don't bite," she teased, her pretty blue eyes watching carefully as he flushed dark red.

Anthony cleared his throat. "That would be great, thanks."

She gracefully maneuvered herself past him and unlocked the door. He followed her inside.

The first thing he noticed when he walked in was the wine red the walls of the sitting room were painted. It was an interesting color choice, he thought. Hannah saw him looking.

She laughed, embarrassed. "It's one of my favorite colors, and since no one else lives with me, there was no one to stop me…"

"I like it," he said honestly. Then he cleared his throat and held out the diary. "Here you are."

She beamed, her golden hair falling into her face a little. "Thank you! Goodness knows what I'd do without it." Her expression softened. "Thank you for bringing it back."

Anthony smiled. "It was no trouble. I, er… I shouldn't stay long, if you have friends coming over…"

He didn't want to say goodbye; he was disappointed that he had to leave. He'd already seen a little bit into this woman's life, and he realized that he wanted to see more—he could see a telescope pointed towards the window on the stairwell. A _telescope_. She was quirky, and he loved it.

Hannah bit her lip. "Yes, you're right. But—" She looked around and then grabbed a pen from nearby. She held it in her teeth while she ripped a page out of her diary. She then scribbled something down and held it out to Anthony. "In case I ever lose something again."

Anthony accepted it and left, only reading the paper when he was outside. A phone number.

He grinned. Maybe Michael hadn't been too far off in his assumptions.


	8. Don't Waste It

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Prompts are below :)**

**Agricultural Studies Task 1: Write about watching someone grow (the plant and their relationship)**

**Word Count: 1876**

**Thanks to Grace for beta'ing!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.**

**Enjoy!**

Really, it had all started because of Pomona's haircut. The way she smiled at him when she asked what he thought of it was difficult to ignore.

It had taken him right back to his youth when he'd first begun apprenticing with his predecessor. He'd felt so out of place then, in the middle of a magic castle when he knew he lacked that gift. Sometimes he'd been downright humiliated. But she'd always had a smile to offer him, and so he admired her from afar.

Then she graduated and he remained there, outside of things once more. But she was back now, teaching Herbology to the students. He'd changed quite a lot since his youth, but she didn't seem to mind.

There was always that damned smile.

"Well, Argus? Do you like it?"

He glanced over at her, his brown eyes widening with surprise. "I… yes."

Her whole face softened as she beamed at him. Her hair—dark as the soil she worked with—now curled about her face in a way even he thought was flattering. He could feel that old attraction creeping back up to the surface and quickly looked around for a distraction.

"What is that?"

Pomona looked over at the pot she'd been watering and laughed a little. "My latest project," she answered vaguely. "When it grows, you'll see."

He raised a brow, but didn't respond. After a moment he excused himself, leaving Pomona and her warmth behind him.

* * *

The next month, he found himself alone with her again.

Argus scowled when he saw the two black-haired boys running away from the greenhouses, Pomona's shout chasing them.

"Potter! Black! Return my property, boys!"

Argus hurried over to her. "What did they take? I can get the headmaster—"

Pomona looked surprised for a moment before she shook her head. "That won't be necessary. They'll bring the pots back; they always do. Yelling after them is more a formality than anything else." The former Hufflepuff's eyes sparkled. "You look like you've had a long day! I've got some tea brewing, if you'd like a cup."

Argus hesitated. The sun was setting and darkness was beginning to settle in, but he couldn't deny that he liked spending time with this woman. So after a moment, he nodded and followed her in. She sat him down in a chair, which he sat in stiffly, feeling out of place amongst all the plant life.

After a minute, Pomona's tan hands were holding out a teacup to him. He took it, trying to hide the way he trembled.

Pomona sat beside him and took a sip from her own cup, a smile on her face. After a moment, she pointed to one of the pots sitting on the windowsill in the sun. A little green sproutlet was peeking above the soil. "He's growing, see? It's a bit slowgoing, is all."

Argus recognized the plant from last time. He didn't hold any particular interest in it, but he wasn't about to tell her that. "Ah, yes. I see. Very nice."

He wanted to kick himself for those words, but Pomona didn't seem to notice how terribly disinterested they sounded. "Isn't he? I can't wait until he blooms."

She looked so content that Argus felt himself relaxing. He resisted the urge to tug on his long, mud-colored hair—a habit that came out when he felt pensive, though he'd tried to curb it ever since his mother called it "horrid". He simply looked at Pomona for a while, marvelling at how she seemed to think even the simplest of things beautiful.

Argus took a sip of his tea, not even wincing at the bright lemon color of the cup. She'd been so lovely to him since she began working at Hogwarts that he decided he should make an effort to return her kindness.

"I… missed you, after you graduated." He was careful to keep his voice neutral, but the words were so true they ached. "It's nice to see you again."

A light flush spread across Pomona's nose and cheeks. "I missed you, too, Argus," she murmured. She looked up at him, her mossy-green eyes sparkling in the sunlight streaming through the windows. "I wondered after you. I'm glad you haven't left yet."

He wasn't sure how to explain to her that as difficult as it was to be around magic, he couldn't imagine a life without it. As a Squib, there really weren't many jobs that could keep him connected with the wizarding world. He cleared his throat. "I'll be here for a long time yet."

Pomona smiled and patted his knee. "Who knew we'd be coworkers? This certainly wasn't the path I expected my life to take, but I must say that I'm not disappointed."

Argus took another sip of tea, liking the way it scalded his tongue. "Yes," he mumbled. "Who knew?"

* * *

Two months later, Argus' visits to the greenhouses were much more frequent. He found comfort in her company; she never showed any sign of annoyance when he dropped by. She seemed delighted, in fact. He was normally received in the opposite manner, so this change was very welcome.

The students were whispering, though. They noticed everything—it was something he'd always hated about the inhabitants of Hogwarts. Pomona wasn't annoyed by the giggles whenever Argus was near her—she seemed to think it was amusing, even though there wasn't really anything going on between them.

Argus wasn't amused. It was his private life, and he'd like it to stay that way, _thank you very much_.

Surly because of the looks he was getting from the students, Argus trudged down to the greenhouses one afternoon for tea with Pomona. He stopped at the door, trying very hard to calm down before he went inside. Pomona didn't deserve his anger.

When he entered, however, he didn't find Pomona there—he found Poppy.

Her eyes locked onto him when he came in. "Argus, hello. Are you looking for Pomona? She's in the forest, collecting some samples for me. Medicinal herbs and the like."

He nodded, slightly gruffly. He wasn't sure how to share this space with the other woman. The Hogwarts matron narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, don't let me scare you off, Argus. I'll be out of here in a minute."

He nodded again. He'd been about to say "See to it that you are," but when he pictured Pomona's face if she heard him, a wave of shame washed over him. So instead he said, "Thank you."

Poppy tilted her head to one side before taking a few steps forward. "You and I have been working together for a long time, Argus," she said softly. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm glad she's making you so happy."

He stiffened. This was dangerously close to topics Argus never wished to discuss with anyone. "I don't understand what you mean," he said a bit sharply, turning his head away.

Poppy just smiled. "Love is, I think, wasted on the young. I'm glad you both got this chance. Don't waste it."

Argus' chest tightened. "I don't—"

Poppy shook her head. "It's clear how much you two care for each other. Even the students see it!" She laughed a little, but not unkindly.

Argus stared at her for a long time, unsure whether or not she was making a joke out of him. Eventually, his eyes traveled over to that little plant Pomona loved so much. "Has that been watered today?"

Poppy followed his gaze and shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Without looking at the matron, he picked up a watering can and let the six-inch tall plant drink. Poppy didn't seem to mind his rudeness; she only smiled in an all too knowing way.

Before he could snap—the way she was looking at him made him uncomfortable—Pomona came in. "Oh, here you are, Poppy. I'm sorry it took so long. And Argus! I'm glad you're here—did you water him for me? Thank you so much, I've been so distracted lately, I can't believe I forgot…"

She prattled on for a few more minutes, but Argus wasn't paying much attention. _I see how much you care for each other,_ Poppy had said. Which meant that, if Argus' feelings were clear, Pomona must feel the same…

He shook his head and tuned back in just as Pomona was shutting the door after Poppy. She beamed at him, her hair a mess but her eyes glowing. "Well then, it looks like it's just you and me, luv."

Argus swallowed when he heard the term of affection. Pomona was the sort of woman who used them frequently with everybody, but sometimes he felt that this one was meant just for him.

It was a ridiculous notion, but he clung to it nonetheless.

He suddenly remembered Poppy's behest—_don't waste this chance._ It was the only thing she'd ever asked of him, and it felt wrong to ignore it.

Pomona, oblivious to his internal struggle, reached out a hand and lightly brushed her fingers against his wrist. "I know it's a slow-blooming flower," she murmured, "but it means a lot that you've been as patient with it."

It was suddenly so obvious that she wasn't actually talking about the flower, he almost laughed.

He swallowed thickly, and decided to take a chance. Even if he'd misread this entire situation… Pomona wasn't one to hold grudges, or shy away to avoid conflict. He cleared his throat. "Some things… are worth patience."

When she grinned, he knew he'd said the right thing.

* * *

"That's it, guys," Pomona said excitedly a month later. "It's time to get rid of those thorns."

Argus watched carefully over her shoulder as their little flower—which had grown into a decent-sized clump of leaves and stems—shivered. It slowly shed its protective layer of thorns, finally fully grown. This was the fastest Argus had ever seen it move, and he had to admit it was fascinating.

Once all the thorns were gone, Pomona reached out and grabbed his hand, her eyes glued on the plant before them.

It happened slowly, but that made it all the more entrancing. The buds began to open up, revealing different colored petals. Some orange, some purple, some red—they were all gorgeous.

Argus cleared his throat. "They're here."

Pomona's expression was fond as she gazed upon the plant she'd been grooming for months. "Yes. And they're so perfect!"

Argus looked down at her. "What do they do?" he asked her, remembering the question he'd voiced so long ago.

Pomona placed her head on his shoulder. They'd taken Poppy's advice, and both were happier for it. The world really was brighter when you had someone to share it with.

"Each has different healing properties," she explained. "They're such a challenge to grow, though—they need to be in an atmosphere with plenty of love and affection."

She turned to smile gratefully at him. He realized what she was implying and cleared his throat. "Getting a cat… would've been easier, you know."

Pomona laughed out loud at that. "You get your cat, Argus Filch, and I'll keep my plants, thank you. Now, how about we have a nice cup of tea, eh? I think we could all use one."

And really, how could he refuse that?

**A/N: **

**Writing Club:**

**Book Club: (color) black, (word) darkness, (dialogue) "Return my property!"**

**Showtime: 11. A Guy That I'd Kinda Be Into — (dialogue) "Who knew?"**

**Amber's Attic: 23. ArgusPomona**

**Liza's Lyrics: 13. But I find beauty in this world every single night - All Black**

**Angel's Arcade: Xianghua — (genre) romance, (era) Marauders, (dialogue) "It's just you and me, luv."**

**Lo's Lowdown: 1. (plot point) changing your hairstyle**

**Film Festival: 25. "Love is, I think, wasted on the young."**

**Seasonal Challenges:**

**Days of the Year: 13 September — Write about an optimist**

**Summer: 6. (word) tan**

**Colors: 9. Lemon**

**Birthstones: 8. Jasper — "That's it, guys. It's time to get rid of [word/name]."**

**Flowers: 10. Allium — (word) behest**

**Fire: 9. (word) warmth**

**Mix It Up: Character: Poppy Pomfrey; Prompt: (emotion) surprise**


	9. We Don't Need To Be Alone

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for HPFC and Hogwarts. Prompts are below :)**

**Word Count: 988**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.**

**WARNINGS: Mentioned character death (including that of a child), language, injury**

**Enjoy!**

When James Potter rejoined the Auror force after his long recovery, Kingsley wasn't sure what to think.

The man was a hero; he'd fought with the Order of the Phoenix, and he'd survived Voldemort's attack—but his head injury had sent him into a coma for several months. When he woke up, it had taken many more months before he was fit for service again.

What did a war hero do when there was no longer a war?

Kingsley had assumed Potter would only be in the office occasionally, so he could take care of his son. But Potter took longer hours than Kingsley himself, and it struck the Ravenclaw one night that this was probably because Harry reminded him of the wife he'd lost.

He assumed that, with time, James would revert back to the man people told stories of—the joking, grinning Gryffindor with a big heart and an ego to match.

But a year passed, and he remained quiet and reserved.

One day, Kingsley decided he needed a stranger's perspective and sat next to him on their lunch break.

Hazel eyes flickered up in confusion. "Er, hullo."

Kingsley stuck out a hand, a small smile on his face. "Kingsley Shacklebolt."

James huffed out a soft laugh. "I know. I'm not as loud as I used to be, I admit, but I still know who my colleagues are."

Kingsley raised a brow. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Potter," he said, cutting right to the chase. "You're not as loud as you used to be."

James' expression immediately closed. "Did Mad-Eye put you up to this? Because I told him—"

"No," Kingsley interrupted, "but if he's worried, then I know I'm right to be. His instincts are never wrong."

James' knuckles whitened as he gripped his fork tighter. "Listen, Shacklebolt, I appreciate your concern" —he didn't, judging by his tone— "but I don't need you to sit here because you feel like you need to… _repay_ me for what happened in the war by _fixing me_—"

Kingsley's low voice cut in coldly. "Did I say that, Potter? No, I didn't. For the record, I don't believe I owe you anything. It's because of who _you_ owe that I'm here."

That gave James pause. "Who do I owe?" he asked hesitantly.

Kingsley's dark eyes fixed on the man beside him. "Your son."

Kingsley caught a glimpse of the pain that flashed across James' features before it disappeared. When he didn't receive a response, he continued.

"You sacrificed so much for him during the war," he murmured, his voice soft. "You meant to sacrifice yourself—it was mere chance that you dodged the Killing Curse—"

"And hit my head instead," James grumbled, his voice brittle. "I know it was a miracle. It doesn't change the fact that—" He fell silent, looking down at his lap.

Kingsley leaned back in his chair and raised a brow. "That your whole world changed? Everybody's did." Kingsley ran a hand down his face, a familiar weight settling over his heart. "Your son… he nearly lost his father. But you're never with him."

James' hands were shaking, and his face was pale. "You've no right—"

"You may have lost your wife," Kingsley interrupted sharply, "but I lost my wife _and_ my child. You don't appreciate what you have, Potter. Go to the boy; you're all he has."

James sat there, stunned, before he lowered his gaze. "Remus and Sirius," he murmured, "are there for him. He knows them, they came up with his bedtime routine and the house rules—I'm the intruder. They're his parents."

It clicked into place suddenly. Potter didn't know where he fit in life anymore. Everything had changed, but it had changed without him—that was the difference between them. James had been left behind.

James shuddered and resumed eating his lunch. "I lost my chance, Shacklebolt. I can yearn for another one all I want, but my luck has been downhill lately."

Kingsley knew he couldn't soothe these wounds. He couldn't make the other man feel better, he couldn't heal the family. But he could send him back to his son.

He took a breath. "Go see your son. Your friends don't want to take this from you, Potter. Harry's mother might be dead… but you're the only one who can keep a part of her alive for him."

James looked up, alarmed. "Shit," he muttered. "I didn't think of it like that."

Kingsley felt his shoulders relaxing; they were getting somewhere. "Go to him, get some sleep, teach him what you know." He sighed and pushed his sleeves up as he got to his feet, exposing old scars and tattoos. "It's what he needs."

James laughed softly. "What is sleep but an illusion to escape the hell we create when we're awake?"

Kingsley looked at him sternly. "Neither of us needs to be alone anymore."

James swallowed, looking scared. "How did you…"

"I miss them," Kingsley admitted, his voice rough. "I'll never forget them. But they'd want me to live."

James nodded slowly.

"Potter!" Both men jumped and turned to face Moody, who was standing against one of the turmeric walls a short distance away. "There's someone here to see you."

A green-eyed little boy stood behind him shyly.

"Did you hear that?" Kingsley asked, smiling slightly. "Go on, then."

James' eyes were glued to his son, but his hands trembled as he spoke. "This is all going to tumble down in flames, I guarantee it."

"No," Kingsley whispered. "You'll see, it'll go perfectly."

James wore an expression he couldn't quite place. "Thank you, Shacklebolt," he said sincerely.

"Call me Kingsley."

"Call me James." They nodded to each other. "We should stay in touch. I owe you now, after all."

Kingsley just raised a brow. "Go. There's plenty of time for that."

And there was. For now, all that mattered was the grin that lit up little Harry's face.

**A/N: **

**Writing Club: **

**Assorted Appreciation: 1. Alice Longbottom — Write about someone staying in the hospital for a long time**

**Disney Challenge: Songs 3. Strange Things — Write about someone feeling like they've been replaced**

**Showtime: 21. Voices In My Head — "You'll see, it'll go perfectly."**

**Sophie's Shelf: 13. Karstark — The sun of winter**

**Liza's Loves: 12. The dead come back to life - The River**

**Angel's Arcade: Necrid — (pairing) Kingsley/James, (word) yearn,** **(theme) change**

**Bex's Basement: 1. James Potter — Write about someone sacrificing themselves for their family**

**Film Festival: 12. (item) tattoo**

**Seasonal Challenges:**

**Days of the Year: 11th July — Write about someone thinking they're alone being proven wrong**

**Summer: 5. (word) relaxing**

**Colors: 4. Turmeric**

**Birthstones: 9. Carnelian — "What is sleep but an illusion to escape the hell we create when we're awake?"**

**Flowers: 5. Peony — (theme) nostalgia**

**Fire: 19. (dialogue) "This is all going to tumble down in flames, I guarantee it."**

**Mix It Up: James Potter, Left Behind - Spring Awakening**

**Gryffindor: Characters 1. James Potter**

**Summer Astrology: September 23 — (song) Starlight - Muse**

**Scavenger Hunt: 51. Write a pairing you've never written before**

**365 Words: 24. Glimpse**

**Insane House Challenge: 231. (dialogue) "Did you hear that?"**


	10. Twist of Fate

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for HPFC and Hogwarts. JamesBellatrix.**

**Word Count: 457**

**Thanks to Ari for beta'ing!**

**WARNINGS: small mention of blood, implied character death**

**Enjoy!**

They were all whispering about it. James Potter's soulmate had not been Lily Evans. His true soulmate was among the Dark Lord's closest followers—who, exactly, Bellatrix did not know.

But soon she would.

She caught the arm of Severus Snape, who she knew had been to see Potter since he'd been captured. The Gryffindor was rotting in their dungeons, a place Bellatrix never went unless asked to dole out special punishments; she was above guard duty.

"Snape," she whispered, her full lips barely moving, "Potter's soulmate—who is she?"

Snape's dark eyes flickered down to her pale wrist, a brow raised in an expression of polite disinterest. He lifted the thing fingers of his free hand and pulled up her sleeve just slightly, so the small, thorny black rose was visible. "You, Black," he said at last. "You."

* * *

She watched him through the bars of his cell, her black eyes emotionless. In the dim light she could barely make out some details: his cracked glasses, the blood trickling from his forehead, the bruises scattered along his arms…

She didn't understand how this could be.

He fought for Dumbledore. He'd married a _Mudblood_ and tried to raise a child with her. How could someone who would lower themselves to that be meant for her?

At least, she thought, his blood was pure.

Bellatrix absent-mindedly twisted a strand of curly dark hair around her finger, and let herself wonder about Potter. Did he know? Had he ever guessed it could be her?

But more so, _why?_ What about him made him the perfect match for her? What made them _soulmates?_

The word made her lip curl.

The truth was, nothing about this man held any sort of appeal for her. He was handsome, yes, and had the right blood. But his morals, his beliefs… they were backwards.

She straightened suddenly; a moment later James began to stir. Maybe this wasn't about what he could do for her. For the first time in her life, it might be time for her to give to someone else.

It was the only explanation. James Potter has lost his way in life, and he needed her to find it again. She was filled with a strange excitement as she considered him in a new light.

He was talented at transfiguration, she knew. He was a skilled duelist, and his bloodline was undiluted.

Without another thought, Bellatrix marches over to his cell and unlocked the door. She crouched in front of the man and lifted his chin just as his beautiful hazel eyes began to open.

Yes, he would be a wonderful asset to the Dark Lord, indeed.

She heard him suck in a breath.

"Hello, my dear," she purred.

His eyes hardened.

She smiled.


	11. In the Dark

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for HPFC and Hogwarts. **

**Word Count: 610**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling. **

**WARNINGS: Mentioned character death, grieving**

**Enjoy!**

The stairs creaked beneath Draco as he descended them, pale grey eyes widening with each noise. He listened carefully for the sound of adults conversing; his father's friends stopped by a lot since the war was won. He was met with only silence, however, and continued to creep to the sitting room, where his father would be.

The five-year-old's tiny pale hands twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open a crack. Draco peered inside, ready to recount his nightmare to his father—it had been terrible, full of dragons and fire—when he heard laughter.

"Rabastan, really, you shouldn't make such jokes. My son is just upstairs, you know."

Draco blinked slowly, wondering at the grin his father was wearing despite the reprimand. Then his eyes drifted to Rabastan Lestrange, a friend of Lucius'. He stayed at the manor the most of all his father's friends, sometimes leaving long after Draco had gone to bed. Tonight seemed to be one of those nights.

"The boy's sleeping, Lucius. He can't hear us."

Draco frowned sharply. He was often underestimated by Rabastan, and he hated it. Still, he had to be nice—Auntie Bella said so. She said Rabastan was "respectable" and "good for the family". But Draco wasn't sure what the man was, aside from an esteemed guest.

A bottle clinked against glass; Rabastan was pouring some more wine into Lucius' glass. "He must miss Narcissa."

It was completely unexpected—Draco let out a little gasp as a sharp pain overtook him. His mother had been gone for a long time now, lost to a war he barely knew, but he could still remember her soft smile and the way she would tenderly brush aside his blond hair—so like her own—out of his face. Rabastan was the opposite—all dark features and arrogant grins.

But his father _looked_ happy, so Draco wasn't entirely sure why he felt unsettled when he saw him with Rabastan.

"Of course he does. He lost his mother, and I… I lost my wife."

A flash of pain crossed Lucius' features, and Draco slipped into the room, unnoticed by the two men, torn between comforting his father and continuing to eavesdrop. Rabastan's dark eyes were sympathetic as he placed a hand, surprisingly gently, on Lucius' knee.

"Every victory comes with a price," he murmured. "And what remains of the Order… we will soon crush it. We will avenge her; she was exactly what I witch should be." He took a sip from his wine glass, a couple tiny droplets sticking to his beard when he set it down again. "Do you still mourn her?" he added quietly.

Lucius raised his chin slightly. "Yes," he rasped. He cleared his throat. "But not so much that I can't move on. It's what she'd have wanted for the both of us." He gestured towards the ceiling.

Draco suddenly wished he was still in bed. The conversation was difficult to follow, and he was starting to get cold. Rabastan didn't look like he was going anywhere soon, however, and it was only Draco's fear of the darkness on the other side of the door that kept him from retreating.

The hand moved further up his father's leg. "I didn't know her well enough to confirm or deny that," he admitted.

Draco narrowed his eyes. His father hadn't responded, and was staring deeply at Rabastan. Draco's eyes flickered to the mantle, and realized why he recognized that expression. There was a picture in a silver frame there, and in it his father and mother were looking at each other in the exact same way.

The two men were leaning forwards. Draco quietly slipped from the room.


	12. One Step Forward

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. :) Pairing: CharlieDaphne**

**Word Count: 1222**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling.**

**Thanks to Grace for beta-ing!**

**Enjoy!**

Charlie's filthy fingers slipped under the slightly open window. He struggled for a minute, but managed to pry it wider until he was able to slip under it.

He knew this area was forbidden; he was deep in Death Eater country now. Still, the threat of Voldemort didn't seem nearly as important as finding his soulmate did. Charlie's tiny, patronus-like dragon had finally appeared to him, and it was leading him to his soulmate.

The temptation was too much to pass up.

Charlie slipped into the house quietly. The halls were dark, but Charlie wasn't fooled—he'd seen the lights shining through the windows on the floors below.

The silvery dragon danced around Charlie's head, urging him on. He grinned a little despite his fear. He wasn't sure whose house this was, or who his soulmate would turn out to be, but for the first time since the world fell to Voldemort, Charlie was able to hope for a brighter future.

Charlie ran his hands through his red hair in an attempt to make himself a bit more presentable—a feat that was nearly impossible due to all the blood and grime caked to his body—and headed forwards.

The little dragon skipped happily along, its tiny wings fluttering happily as it hopped through the air. Charlie stayed close to it, slinking through the shadows. He was careful not to creak any floorboards as he went, his heart beating steadily faster.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins. Somewhere in this building was his promised happiness. He wondered who it could be—a prisoner, perhaps? He wasn't sure, but he was determined to find out.

Charlie thought briefly of his family. They'd all found their soulmates already—this was hell, but they had company. And though this was horribly reckless, the thought of no longer being the odd one out was just too good to pass up. He would just have to worry them.

Finally, the little dragon stopped in front of a door. His heart in his mouth, Charlie entered it after checking for wards.

He poked his head in, and his blue eyes met green. He sucked in a breath.

He knew this woman. She was Daphne Greengrass; he recognized her from the pictures in the _Prophet_ shortly before the Order lost the war. She seemed just as shocked to see him as he was to see her.

"Weasley," she breathed.

"Fuck," he whispered.

Both stared at each other in shock, unable to react further. Charlie's mind was whirling. Daphne Greengrass. Daphne _Greengrass_. Her parents weren't Death Eaters, but they were known supporters.

He wasn't sure how to get out of this one. He could see his little dragon wrestling with what he assumed was Daphne's cougar, so it couldn't be a mistake. But he also couldn't see how this would work.

She stood up from her vanity desk suddenly, her long dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Charlie's wand was in his hand in an instant.

Daphne held her hands up in front of her. "Hold it, Weasley," she said softly, "I'm not here for a battle."

Charlie was breathing heavily, all his attention glued to her. He kept his wand raised as she slowly inched around him and closed the door. "How do you know who I am?" he demanded.

A thin, dark brow rose to her hairline. "Your family is infamous; it would be difficult not to recognize you."

Charlie had to admit she had a point. He lowered his wand a fraction.

"I only want to talk," she promised. She even held out her wand to him. He took it hesitantly and let his own drop to his side.

Daphne made her way over to her bed, her long white nightgown swishing about her feet. Charlie frowned sharply. How long had it been since he'd been able to wash his clothes, much less own something so nice? It was a painful reminder of the suppression he and his family suffered through. He crossed his arms.

"I'm not sure I want to hear what you have to say," he said with his chin jutting out.

Daphne smiled slowly. "Are you sure?"

"There are children dying," he rasped, "and you're living a life of complete luxury. That alone is enough reason to stay away."

Daphne scoffed lightly. "That's the truth in every society, Weasley. The difference here is that you're a part of it."

Charlie shook his head stubbornly. "Not like this," he muttered. "It's never been like this."

Daphne closed her eyes briefly. "You're right. Not like this." She pulled a pillow onto her lap and played with the tassels for a moment. Then she leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "That's why I want to be free of this place," she finished in a whisper.

Charlie ran a hand through his red hair warily. "What?"

"I want to leave," Daphne clarified, her eyes wide. "This isn't what I signed up for. One wrong move and you're _dead_. No blood purity or any other ideals is worth that. It's not the world I want to live in, and it's not the one I want for my sister—which, surely, you can understand."

Charlie thought back to Ginny, always sleeping beside Harry because he helped keep the nightmares away. He thought of Ron, whose light seemed to be completely absent as of late. Lastly, he thought of George, who had lost all direction when his twin was taken from him. Yes, he could definitely understand wanting more for a sibling.

"Why are you telling me this?" he finally asked.

Daphne broke eye contact with him. "Because you're my only ticket out of here," she whispered. "If you could get me and Astoria to safety… I would forever be in your debt. Please, Weasley."

"You think I'll help you just because we're soulmates," he accused bitterly.

Daphne closed her eyes. "That's because that's the only reason you might hear me out."

Charlie hesitated. He knew nothing about this girl. She was in Ron's year at school, he knew, which would make her about twenty. He was sure that she was frightened for her sister—who wouldn't be?—but he wasn't sure that her intentions were good.

His eyes lingered on the little dragon, which was watching him carefully. His spirit animal had led him here for a reason, he decided. And even if this instinct of his was wrong, he wasn't just going to turn his back on someone who asked for his help.

"Get her quickly," he murmured, "and be quiet about it. I'll see if I can get you two out of here."

Daphne's shoulders relaxed as she bobbed her head up and down. "I will." She hurried to the door, then turned back to him. "Thank you." He was surprised by how sincere she sounded.

He nodded once, but warned her, "There's no going back, you know. You have to be ready to commit to this."

Daphne laughed, almost bitterly, and said, "Trust me, Weasley, I'm sure about this."

Charlie hesitated. "Call me Charlie," he told her at last.

A small smile crept up her face. "If you call me Daphne."

She was gone before he could respond. Charlie looked back at the little dragon; he was flapping his wings with pride.

Charlie smiled. This might just be the beginning of his future.


	13. Letting Go

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for THC. Prompts are below :)**

**Word Count: 831**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Those rights go to JK Rowling. **

**THC:**

**House: Slytherin**

**Class: Care of Magical Creatures**

**Category: Drabble**

**Prompt: (object) a pair of gloves**

**Thanks to Obsidian for beta-ing!**

**Enjoy!**

Narcissa entered the Fortescue's property, slipping easily through the wards. Her ice-blue eyes flickered towards the the small cottage where she knew her lover would be; Alice loved the outdoors, and subzero temperatures wouldn't stop her from camping out on the steep-sloped roof.

Narcissa walked briskly through the snow, shivering. She climbed up to join her lover, using an assortment of objects Alice had used as makeshift stairs. She settled herself next to the other woman, who, to Narcissa's surprise, didn't spare her a glance.

Narcissa held out a gloved hand, palm up. They were Alice's—Narcissa would never have chosen the coral color for herself—but she'd taken to wearing them since Alice had left them behind after one forbidden rendezvous.

"You shouldn't be out in the cold for so long," Narcissa admonished. The first stars of the night appeared as she spoke. "Go out to town, at least; keep moving, stay warm. We could go now, if you'd like. I've some polyjuice—"

"What's the point of going out? We're just going to wind up back here anyway." Alice's words were bitter, tinged with resentment. "Hidden away like something shameful. I can't imagine loving in secret like that… Not for forever."

Narcissa blinked, surprised. Cautiously, she tried to ease Alice's worries. "It wouldn't be forever, just until the war is over—"

Alice turned her brown-eyed gaze on her then, piercing and challenging and reminding Narcissa of the fire she had fallen in love with. "So once the war's over, you'll gladly hold my hand—as yourself—in public? You won't care what your family will have to say about your dating a 'blood traitor'?"

Alice was shivering violently; Narcissa hesitantly pulled Alice closer and wrapped her cloak around them both. Alice didn't pull away. Emboldened, Narcissa spoke. "We'd have to be more careful than that, of course. Precautions would have to be taken—"

Alice's eyes filled with tears, but she didn't look away. She never shied away from confrontation. "Will I ever win?" she asked softly. "Narcissa, you need to choose. I can't… I can't pretend anymore. It's me or the reputation you have. I won't compromise myself for that."

Fear was coursing through Narcissa's veins now, hot and painful. She couldn't lose Alice, but she couldn't turn her back on her family.

Narcissa refused to be a disappointment.

She tampered down on those feelings, because a Black never lost control.

Still, she pressed her glove-clad hands protectively to her chest.

"The worlds we were born into," Narcissa said slowly, "are very different. It's easier for you to be yourself, but there are traditions I need to uphold. You know I love you; I've sacrificed so much to be with you thus far—"

"You've _sacrificed_ to be with me?" Alice asked in a deadly quiet voice. Her short, dark hair was dotted with snowflakes, and that's what Narcissa focused on—anything but the rage in Alice's eyes.

Alice's hands hands clenched, her fingers charcoal-stained because she could _create_, unlike Narcissa, who could only destroy. "I spent a lot of time with you thinking I was second best. But you know what? I'm good." Alice laughed shakily. "I was always taught there's good in everyone, but you proved me wrong!"

Narcissa felt torn. She wanted to reach out for her lover and take back her words—that she wasn't sacrificing anything, because Alice was her world. But she couldn't do that. She just wasn't strong enough to leave behind the life she'd known.

"I've never thought you inferior," she said at last. Her face was stoic. She didn't deny the accusations thrown her way, though; how could she, when she was hurting the person she cared for most in the world?

Alice finally returned her gaze to the starry sky. "You could have fooled me," she whispered.

Narcissa didn't respond. It was one thing to cherish Alice above all else; it was another thing entirely to face the consequences of loving her. Blacks weren't made for strength, only survival.

After a moment, Alice stood. "I'd love to stay and finish this delightful conversation, but…" Her shoulders sagged. She turned to Narcissa. "It's time to say goodbye," she croaked.

Narcissa remained stoic. Alice sighed. "Not even worth that, am I?"

She hopped off the roof and hurried inside, leaving Narcissa suddenly cold, alone—broken. Blonde hair fell in front of her face as she looked down at the coral gloves, her vision blurred with tears. They were all she had left of Alice, now; Narcissa wasn't fool enough to think they could come back from this.

Slowly, she slipped the garments off. She held them in her palm for a moment, the wool soft to the touch and smelling of mint, like Alice.

Narcissa laid them on the roof. She couldn't move forward with the reminder of what she'd lost. There would be no place in her life for useless memories.

That was all Alice could be, now.

It was only then that she let the tears come.

**A/N:**

**WC: Assorted Appreciation: 7. Martha Jones — (dialogue) "I spent a lot of time with you thinking I was second best. But you know what? I am good."**

**WC: Disney Challenge: C3. Jane — Write about someone "nice" losing their temper**

**WC: Trope of the Month: 9. (word) forbidden**

**WC: All Sorts of Space: 2. Daibazaal — (emotion) resentment**

**WC: Book Club: Lukas — (action) stargazing, (dialogue) "I can't imagine loving in secret like that.", (item) charcoal**

**WC: Showtime: 20. Papers — (word) property**

**WC: Liza's Loves: 13. Outlander — alt. Write about someone who loves to be outdoors**

**WC: Angel's Archives: 10. "Will I ever win?"**

**WC: Scamander's Case: 3. (action) maintaining eye contact**

**WC: Bex's Basement: 12. "What's the point of going out? We're just going to wind up back here anyway."**

**WC: Film Festival: 26. (dialogue) "I was always taught there's good in everyone, but you've proved me wrong!"**

**WC: Marvel Appreciation: 4. Write about someone who wants to do the right thing**

**WC: Lyric Alley: 4. And that would wipe the smile right from my face**

**Seasonal: Days of the Year: 1 August — write a femslash pairing**

**Seasonal: Summer: 1. (word) camping**

**Seasonal: Colors: 5. Coral**

**Seasonal: Mix It Up: Alice Longbottom, Take Me or Leave Me**

**Hangman: Narcissa Malfoy**

**Wandmakers: 9. Pine: only purebloods, 6. Troll whiskers: aggravated, Rigid: "I'd love to stay and continue this delightful conversation, but…"**

**Game Night: Truth: Trope: Secret relationship**

**Build a Bear: Pumpkin Scent: grief**

**Fortnightly: Sweetly Sapphic: 2. Lay under the stars and talk about life**

**Fortnightly: The 100: Raven — alt. Write about a heartbreak**

**Sci-Fi: 3. Huddling for warmth (BONUS)**

**300\. Broken**

**272\. "You need to choose."**


	14. Serenity

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Some PercyDraco fluff… because I love them. :P**

**Word Count: 736**

**Enjoy!**

Percy rolled over in bed, blinking slowly awake. Though the picture was blurry, his blue eyes focused on the blond man beside him, still deep within the clutches of slumber.

The corners of Percy's mouth lifted up slightly. He reached out a freckled hand and smoothed Draco's hair off of his forehead, awed by the man beside him. Years ago, he never would have dreamed he'd be so lucky… he never would have dreamed that anyone would be in his bed period, much less someone he'd come to love so dearly.

Percy's eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, and, squinting, he could just barely make out the time—nearly four in the morning.

By all accounts, it was much too early to be up. But Percy knew himself well enough to realize that attempting to fall back asleep would be futile. So with a small stretch, Percy rolled out of bed and grabbed his glasses off of the bedside table. He placed them firmly on his face, then pulled on a dressing gown and made his way into the sitting room.

The next few hours were spent comfortably. Percy devoured a Muggle mystery novel and was working on a cup of tea. He had the radio turned down low, needing the background noise to concentrate (a side-effect of having so many siblings in the house growing up, he was sure). Eventually, though, the floorboards in the hallway creaked, and a groggy Draco appeared in the doorway.

"It is seven in the morning," Draco said by way of greeting, "and entirely too early to be up."

The grey-eyed man yawned and stretched, looking quite fetching in one of Percy's t-shirts. Percy chuckled lowly, his eyes fond as he watched his boyfriend enter the room. "Did you sleep well?"

Draco shrugged and walked over to the armchair Percy was sitting on and climbed onto Percy's lap, his long, pale legs stretched out beautifully. "Would've been better if I'd woken up by you," Draco told him pointedly.

Percy hummed as Draco's slim fingers dragged through his red curls. "Is that so?"

He was melting beneath Draco's touch. The younger man was so good at reducing Percy to mush, and he knew it, too. Draco's hands moved to Percy's shoulders, then began working the stiffness out of the muscles. A moment later, he answered Percy's question.

"Yes, it is. The bed was cold, which is a cruel and unusual punishment—"

Percy scoffed lightly. "What a horror—cold sheets. You're a delicate little thing, aren't you?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but he wasn't truly offended. "It's your youngest brother that's delicate—we all know Granger is the tough on in that relationship. I worry sometimes that she'll walk all over him."

"She doesn't need Ron's help to do that," Percy said with a grin. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Draco's. "This is nice," he murmured.

Draco cocked an eyebrow, but he didn't pull away. "We do this most mornings."

"I know," Percy replied, a bit breathless, "but I mean… I'd like to do this for a long time, I think."

Draco was watching him carefully. "If this is your proposal, it's clumsier than Ron's will be."

Percy's cheeks colored as he thought about what a marriage would yield. He and Draco would live together, free to be in love and prosper… perfectly at peace.

Perhaps not _completely_ at peace; they loved each other too much not to argue from time to time. But it was a promise of forever.

"Well, it wasn't supposed to be, but now I'm wondering if… if it should be."

Draco pressed his lips gently to Percy's. "Mmm. I think I like that idea."

Percy's face brightened, his heart in his mouth. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Draco smiled against his mouth. "We're engaged, Weasley."

Percy laughed lowly. "It would seem so, Malfoy.

Draco pulled back and looked at Percy slyly, his grey eyes sparkling. "My father will hear about this."

Startled and amused, Percy shoved his boyfriend—fiancé—whatever—onto the ground, watching Draco's long limbs tangle together. The younger man squawked in indignation and then pulled Percy down on top of him.

Completely overwhelmed by everything was feeling, the best Percy could do was bury his nose in the spot where Draco's neck met his shoulder, breathing in the Slytherin deeply as fingers dug into Percy's red hair and back.

Breakfast was soon forgotten, which neither man minded much.


	15. More Than You Know

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Note: AU**

**Word Count: 479**

**Enjoy!**

Arthur stretched out a leg, groaning as the muscles tightened. His toes brushed along a calf—Lucius'—which caused the man beside him to stir. A hand snaked out from the sheets and wrapped around Arthur's wrist, pulling him closer.

"Don't you dare get out of bed," Lucius mumbled into his pillow. "I need the heat."

Arthur twisted his arm so he could run his fingers through Lucius' long, blond hair. "You're rather self-entitled, aren't you?"

"Stay in bed."

"I want a coffee."

There is was—those grey eyes Arthur had fallen so in love with. He didn't even mind that Lucius had only lifted his face from the pillow to glare at him. "That's not funny."

Arthur just shrugged, his blue eyes sparkling. "I thought it was, actually."

A huff of laughter betrayed Lucius' true feelings; Arthur grinned in triumph, though he was careful not to let his partner see. "Come on; I'll make us breakfast."

Lucius yawned widely. "You will not. Dobby will do it; that's what he's for, after all."

Arthur hesitated. At thirty, he was still unused to relying on house elves for so many things, even though he'd been living with Lucius for the better part of ten years. They'd fought often as they'd tried to come up with a balance between the privileged pureblood life and the one Arthur had lived. Arthur hadn't been successful in convincing Lucius to live without house elves, but it really wasn't such a terrible battle to lose.

That didn't change the fact that Arthur liked feeling independent, though. "I really don't think that's—"

"Dobby," Lucius interrupted lazily, and the elf appeared with a _crack_, wringing his hands. "Bring us a full English breakfast—and be quick about it."

"Yes, sir—Dobby will bring you your breakfast, sirs—"

"_Now_," Lucius snapped impatiently; Arthur frowned at him, apologizing quickly to Dobby and thanking him. The poor elf nodded quickly and then disappeared. Arthur turned to Lucius.

"You didn't have to do that," he said uncomfortably. "I could have made us breakfast."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "I can think of a few other things I'd rather be doing with you."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but his neck and ears were growing hot. "I'm flattered," he said flatly.

"You should be," Lucius agreed. But when he spoke next, it was with a sudden seriousness that startled Arthur. "It's not often a Malfoy hands out their eternal love, after all."

Arthur kept calm, despite the way his heart fluttered as though he were still a teenager. "Is that so? Do you love me?"

Lucius stared at him intensely. "More than you know," he growled at last.

Goosebumps erupted over Arthur's flesh, and he let himself bury his nose in the other man's neck. "I love you too," he murmured.

Fingers against the nape of his neck were his only response, but Arthur knew that it was enough.


	16. Never the Same

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. **

**Charms Task 3: Write about a character struggling to accept an aspect of their personality**

**Word Count: 810**

**WARNINGS: self-deprecating thoughts, heavy angst**

**Many thanks to Angela for beta-ing!**

**Enjoy!**

Lavender chopped the vegetables by hand, as she preferred, the blade of the knife hitting the cutting board in a steady beat. Lavender stared straight down, her blue eyes intensely focused on her task.

She distantly heard the apartment door open and her two lovers walk in. Parvati and Seamus were conversing loudly, and Lavender grit her teeth as the sound reached her ears. She'd been on edge all day, but was determined not to take it out on the other two.

Greyback's attack had changed her, and she spent every minute of every day pretending that it hadn't.

"'Ello, lovely!" Seamus sauntered into the kitchen, a wide grin on his face. He came up behind Lavender and grabbed her by the shoulders, then pecked her warmly on the cheek.

Lavender shook herself out of his grip. "I'm cooking," she said quietly. "You nearly made me chop my finger off."

Seamus flicked her blond curls playfully. "And that'd be a right tragedy, wouldn't it?"

Seamus' fingers trailed over her knuckles—and brushed against one of the many scars. Lavender drew her hand away with a gasp, and the knife clattered loudly to the ground.

Seamus dropped his hands, looking grim, his previous joy fading fast. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, love," he said quietly. "I don't mind 'em."

"_You_ might not," Lavender snapped, "but that doesn't mean they're something to be _flaunted!_"

Seamus dark eyes were anguished, and he took a step towards Lavender, who flinched backwards. "That's not what I meant, Lavender."

Lavender turned away, tears pricking her eyes. She hated how emotional she was when the full moon approached, hated how angry she got, hated how _every little thing_ set her off.

She wrapped her arms around herself, still facing away from her partner. "Stop trying to pretend like this is okay."

"What, like you're doing?"

The words cut through her like knives, and Lavender trembled. She bore the symptoms of a curse that would never fully activate, so she should be okay. She should be lucky, she should be grateful, but although she pretended she was… she wanted Parvati and Seamus to acknowledge that she wasn't the same.

She was a bundle of confused emotions, and she couldn't do anything about any of them.

"Lavender, I—I didn't mean it like that." She didn't respond. "Lavender? I'm sorry." Still, nothing. Then she heard Seamus sigh. "I don't know how to reach you," he murmured in a strangled voice. "You're pulling away from us!"

And wasn't that exactly the point? The war had been over for six months now. Lavender had gone to therapy, she'd taken potions to help with the dreams and the pain, she'd even reached out to Bill Weasley, who'd suffered a similar attack—but she wasn't _fixed_ yet. There was something broken inside of her, and she despised the person she'd become; the person she couldn't recognize in the mirror.

Why Parvati and Seamus wanted someone so alien to them, she would never know.

She didn't feel like the same girl they'd fallen in love with.

Without a word, Lavender left the kitchen. Seamus could cook well enough; he'd finish the meal. Right now, all Lavender wanted was to be alone.

She rushed into the bedroom, arms still wrapped tightly around herself, and sat on the edge of the bed. Her breathing was shallow and rapid as she tried to prevent the tears from spilling, but it was no use. She began weeping. Bitterly, she wondered if she'd ever run out of tears.

Only a couple of minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Lavender pressed her lips together as Parvati entered without an invitation—though to be fair, it was Parvati's room, too.

Dark, slender hands reached out to cup Lavender's face and didn't pull away when Lavender flinched. Parvati's dark eyes were solemn as she spoke.

"We know what you're doing," she whispered, brushing the tears from Lavender's cheeks. "But this isn't just your journey. We are all a family, and we will figure this out together."

That was the final crack in the dam for Lavender. She broke down, clutching at Parvati's hips and pulling her closer, soaking Parvati's shirt as she cried into it. Through it all Parvati just held her, running her fingers through her hair and whispering words of comfort and support.

"I-I'm so-sorry," Lavender gasped after a few minutes. "I d-don't mean to p-push you both away."

"It's okay," Parvati whispered. "You're still you, and we'll figure the rest out in time. The fondness for rare meat, the short temper, the aches—we'll face it all together."

Lavender nodded and pressed her cheek against Parvati's stomach, her blue eyes wide. "I want my old life back," she whimpered after a moment.

Parvati was quiet for a long time before replying. Eventually, "We'll figure it out" was all she said.


	17. Peace at Last

**A/N: Hey y'all! Here's some BillTonks. Post-war.**

**Word Count: 383**

**Enjoy!**

Bill smiled serenely down at his girlfriend, dragging his fingers through her bubblegum pink hair. "Morning," he whispered as her eyes opened slowly.

She frowned up at him as she woke up; she'd never been a morning person. "Mmm. Morning. Now, good night."

"Hey, hey, wait." Bill placed a gentle kiss on her jaw to help her wake up a bit. Sunlight was falling onto the bed and illuminating her heart-shaped face; Bill smiled at the sight. "Babe," he whispered, "the war is over."

Tonks cocked a pink brow, looking both amused and unimpressed. "I'm aware, thanks." Her hand slithered out from beneath the blankets and switched on the lamp, resigning herself to wakefulness, then turned back to him. She laced her fingers through Bill's, and he grinned at the sight of her bitten nails with chipped purple varnish.

This was the serenity they had fought for, and he felt giddy that they'd actually achieved it. The murky waters of life were finally clearing for them; the future had never seen more bright.

"You're staring."

Tonks' amused voice interrupted his thoughts. Bill just grinned lazily and shrugged, draping his free arm over her waist and pulling her closer. "I can't help it. We _made it_, Tonks." He let the laughter bubble up inside him and pressed an ecstatic kiss to his girlfriend's lips. "It's over, and we made it."

Cool fingers reached out to his jaw, and Bill leaned into the touch. "Yeah," Tonks whispered to him. Her fingers trailed the scars on his face, and there was no disgust, no hesitation… only love. "Yeah," she said again. "It's sort of bloody amazing, isn't it?"

He laughed out loud, completely in love with her way with words, and pulled her up against his chest. He buried his nose into the junction between her neck and shoulder, feeling her squirm when its coldness touched her warm skin. "I love you," he told her, the words unbelievably freeing. "I love you."

Tonks cradled the back of his head with her free hand, the other still clasped tightly in his. "I love you, too. Now shut up and let me sleep; there's still another hour or two before it's indecent not to be awake."

Bill grinned and reached over her to switch the lamp back off.


	18. Sparks

**A/N: Hey y'all! Just a quick KingsleySirius drabble. Muggle!AU**

**Word Count: 409**

**WARNINGS: Language**

**Enjoy!**

Sirius dragged a hand through his hair and wondered, not for the first time, whether he could get away from the bar without James noticing.

"Stop fidgeting," James hissed at him. "The bloke's almost here; he's just texted me."

"I don't do _blind dates,_" Sirius growled, but the familiar phrase had lost its bite by now. "I dunno why you set this up."

James didn't look up from his mobile as he responded. "Because I'm bloody tired of you moping, that's why. So're Remus and Peter."

Sirius didn't even bother protesting. He adjusted his leather jacket and tried to keep from being nervous. James had the worst taste in men, being straight; Remus and Peter were much better at figuring out his type. Sirius was half-afraid that some stiff law student was about to walk through the doors, or worse—a friend of Lily's.

Then, barely audible over the music playing, Sirius heard the low rumble of a motorbike. He glanced out the window to see a man pull up to the curb and step gracefully off the bike. Sirius sent a longing look in the man's direction, then turned back to James.

But to his surprise, James was looking at the biker, too.

"He's here, then. My cue to go."

"Wait." Sirius grabbed his friend's jacket sleeve, his grey eyes wide. "The bloke. He's the one on the bike?"

James pushed up his glasses. "Well, obviously. I wouldn't just pick someone off the street, you know. He's one of my coworkers, and I thought you two might get along."

Sirius bit his lip, pulling on the silver ring there with his teeth. "Fuck. Thank you. He's coming, so go."

James made an indignant noise, but Sirius' attention was fixed on the man who'd just come inside. Tall, dark skin, _fantastic_ black eyes—

"Hullo. You must be my date tonight." The man had reached their table and stuck a hand out; Sirius grinned slowly and stood, accepting the offer of this man's hand.

"I should hope so." He took in the bloke's white T-shirt and jeans—not the lawyer type, then, but not quite as bold as Sirius. "I'm Sirius Black."

"Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Sirius slowly sank back down in his seat, his eyes never leaving Kingsley's. If the man turned his head _just so_, his gold earring glinted; Sirius was quickly becoming addicted.

"Pleasure to meet you, Kingsley. Fancy a drink?"

Kingsley raised a brow but sat down. "I'd love one."


	19. One More Miracle

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Angsty RemusKingsley.**

**Defense Against the Dark Arts Task 2: Write about wanting or trying to prolong the life of another person by magical means.**

**Word Count: 718**

**WARNINGS: major character death, injury, mentioned nudity**

**Enjoy!**

Remus' house is still dark when Kingsley enters. The Auror walks anxiously towards the basement door, knowing that this is where Remus locks himself each month—and that he has normally contacted Grimmauld Place by now.

Kingsley can't imagine what caused the delay this time, but he imagines that it has something to do with Fenrir Greyback; Remus mentioned that his missions to the feral werewolf's pack were getting more dangerous. Fear coils in Kingsley's stomach, hot and tight. His lover is strong, but Kingsley knows that not even Remus is indestructible.

He uses his wand to illuminate the basement—there is no time to look for a light switch—but the smell hits him before the sight.

Blood. The metallic scent is thick in the air. It covers the walls, is smeared across the floor, taking the shapes of handprints, paw prints, and other, indiscernible forms. And there in the corner where the blood is thickest, the too-still body of Remus Lupin lies.

There isn't a moment of hesitation—Kingsley just moves. There is a part of his brain that is panicking, despairing, but a larger part is still thinking. He has seen blood before; he has seen much more than this.

Remus is naked, so Kingsley uses his wand to vanish the worst of the blood. Remus is pale where the red has been washed away, but Kingsley can feel a pulse when he presses his fingers against his lover's neck. The Auror takes off his robes and tears off a few strips of fabric. He uses them to stop the worst of the blood flow.

"Remus." His deep voice is more breathless than usual. "Remus, can you hear me?"

No response. Kingsley would have already taken him to St. Mungo's, but the hospital is no longer admitting lycanthropic patients. His fingers flutter over Remus' scarred face, which was freshly torn open during the night; Kingsley doubts it was his own doing and spares a moment to curse Fenrir Greyback's name.

Minutes pass, simultaneously too fast and too slow. Kingsley's hands are shaking now, because Remus has lost too much blood—and werewolf wounds cannot be magically healed, only helped. With no other options available, Kingsley raises his wand and begins casting every spell he can think of.

He's so focused on his task that he almost misses Remus' lips moving.

"King…?"

"Here," Kingsley croaks. He rushes to grip Remus' hand. "Tell me what to do."

But there is resignation in Remus' amber eyes. Kingsley is shaking his head before he even realizes it.

"Ferula," he whispers fruitlessly. "Episkey."

Suddenly, a conversation he had with Remus weeks ago comes to mind: "I'm getting older, love. I can't bend the way I used to… the way the curse wants me to. It will be too much one day—I need to warn you now."

Kingsley hadn't accepted it then, and he won't accept it now. He sends a patronus to Alastor, Arthur, and Poppy, hoping that someone will arrive in time to help.

There has to be a way to save Remus' life.

Remus doesn't keep potions ingredients in his home; he claims that he has no use of them, since he isn't a capable potioneer. He buys them brewed, which lessens their quality. But by the time Kingsley thinks to summon the bag of medical supplies, the mediocre potions are his only option. Kingsley rummages through the bag, looking for Blood-Replenishing potion or something equally as helpful, but there is nothing.

Now Kingsley is crying, and he can't stop. There is a gasping sound, and he realizes that Remus is trying to speak. He leans closer, his large hands abandoning the makeshift bandages and instead coming to rest on Remus' face.

"Greyback knows," Remus wheezes. "Managed to… to Apparate here, but… but…"

"Shhh." Kingsley kisses Remus' forehead. "Help is on the way. Just stay with me. Don't close your eyes."

But Remus's eyelids are fluttering. "I… I love you."

Kingsley will kill Greyback if he ever sees him. "I love you too. Don't go."

"Mmm."

There are things that Kingsley knows. He didn't get here in time, Remus was already injured when he transformed, their love has always had an expiration date; still, when the other Order members come, Kingsley finds himself hoping that Remus has one more miracle left in him.


	20. Locked

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Angsty, unrequited NarcissaMolly with side pairings of NarcissaLucius and MollyArthur.**

**Divination Task 4: Write about someone wishing on a star.**

**Word Count: 995**

**Enjoy!**

"Are you—" Molly swallowed. "Are you sure about this?"

Narcissa smiled and continued to gently brush the tangles out of Molly's thick red hair. "Are you afraid?" she asked, amused. "It will look beautiful. I promise."

A quiet laugh escaped Molly, and Narcissa's heart clenched at the sound. "I don't doubt that, Narcissa. I'm just not sure that this is something I should be doing, considering… well. I'm not actually supposed to be in your dorm, you know."

Narcissa threaded her fingers through Molly's hair. She understood the other woman's hesitation; a war was brewing, and tensions were running high—especially between Gryffindors and Slytherins, whose ideals tended to clash the most these days. Still, Narcissa cherished these moments with her friend, even if no one could know about them.

Even if a friend was all Molly would ever be to her.

"Andromeda promised to keep everyone else out," Narcissa reminded her gently. "She always keeps her promises." Not for the first time, Narcissa was grateful for her older sister; she was the only one who knew how close the two girls were, and the only one who wouldn't condemn that closeness.

Molly seemed to relax, so Narcissa continued what she was doing. She sectioned Molly's hair with careful precision and began to braid it all together, weaving in a gold ribbon with it. There was a party in the Gryffindor common room that night, Molly had told her. And there was someone Molly hoped to impress.

Narcissa fought down her wave of jealousy. Arthur Weasley was a pureblood, but nowhere near deserving of someone as good-hearted as Molly Prewett.

But Narcissa was due to marry into the Malfoy family, so she kept her feelings locked carefully away. Her time with Molly was coming to a close, but she'd make sure that the Gryffindor girl was loved. She deserved that much, at least.

"Oh," Molly whispered when Narcissa had finished with her hair, "it's lovely, Narcissa."

"You look beautiful," Narcissa agreed. She didn't have to lie, either; Molly was always stunning, but she seemed to glow tonight. There was a lovely flush across her cheeks as she looked at herself in the mirror that Narcissa wanted to run her fingertips over… but she kept her hands firmly by her sides.

Molly raised her hand to her hair, but stopped her movements before she touched it. "Do you think…" Molly's blush deepened. "Do you think Arthur would like it?"

There it was again: that horrible, all-consuming jealousy. But Narcissa pushed it down and forced a smile onto her face.

"He'd be a fool not to," she said evenly. Molly's beam almost made her words worth it.

* * *

The next day, Molly entered the Great Hall for breakfast hand-in-hand with Arthur Weasley. Narcissa supposed he'd finally noticed his admirer—and Narcissa wasn't bitter enough to lie and say that Arthur was taking advantage of his housemate's affection. In fact, he looked just as enamored with Molly as she was with him.

Narcissa returned to her own meal, unable to look at the two of them any longer. Beside her, Lucius was going on and on about his plans to join the Dark Lord after school. Narcissa's stomach churned, but she did her best to smile at Lucius when he put his arm around her shoulders.

* * *

Narcissa sat on her bed that night, staring out of the window at the stars dotting the black sky. The other girls in her room were fast asleep, the Black's mind was running wild with anxieties. She pulled her green dressing gown closer to her body and fixated her gaze on the brightest star in the sky.

The irony that she was about to wish on Sirius wasn't lost on her, but she pressed her lips together and wished anyway.

_Please,_ she thought desperately, _just make sure he loves her as much as I do. Make sure she is loved._

That done, Narcissa slipped the dressing gown off her shoulders and hung it on the headboard. Then she tucked herself under the duvet and tried not to feel too miserable. This was the best she could do for Molly… escaping her own impending marriage was impossible and irresponsible.

After all, it was like her mother always said: sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

It was just unfortunate that Narcissa's heart had fallen for the wrong sort of person.

* * *

"I don't understand," Molly told her with a frown. Her brown eyes were clouded with confusion, but on this stance, Narcissa couldn't budge. "I know that your family wouldn't agree with us seeing each other, but I don't think we have to end our friendship—"

Narcissa shook her head. It was an effort to keep her voice even, but she'd had weeks to come up with a decision, and this was it. It was the only solution that wouldn't completely upend both their lives. "I'm marrying Lucius in a week, Molly. You know that." She took a deep breath and straightened her spine. "He and Arthur don't get on, so… we can't, either. We're finally going our separate ways."

Molly looked stunned for a moment before steely resolve settled in her eyes. "I can handle Arthur," she said confidently. "He doesn't get a say in who my friends are."

Struggling to keep the tears at bay, Narcissa shook her head. "No," she said coldly. "The world is at war, Molly, and we've already chosen our sides."

The shorter girl's eyes widened as realization hit her; she'd never been an idiot. "Lucius…?"

Narcissa closed her eyes. "Yes."

"...You?"

Narcissa shuddered. "It's... time to say goodbye."

She hurried away before Molly could respond, but she turned back when she was a safe distance away and saw Arthur pulling Molly into his arms.

She'd gotten her wish, it seemed.

Narcissa allowed a single tear to fall down her cheek before she pulled her face into the stoic mask she so often wore.

And locked her heart away.


	21. Life and Love

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. RemusAliceFrank fluff.**

**Religious Education Task 5: Write about a pregnancy**

**Word Count: 654**

**Enjoy!**

Alice rubbed a hand over her belly, feeling the firm places where the baby's elbows or knees were pressing against her. She grumbled softly as she shifted on the sofa, trying to encourage Neville to roll off of her bladder. It didn't work.

From beside her, Remus let out a soft chuckle. "Is he being a nuisance again?" he asked, reaching out to place his palm flat on her stomach. "A Marauder already, eh?"

Alice scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Merlin forbid. I don't know how your mother handled all those howlers from McGonagall."

His amber eyes lit up when he laughed. Alice felt warmth blossom in her chest; Remus may not be related to Neville biologically, but he would be the main caretaker once the baby was born, since neither Alice nor Frank were ready to give up their careers just yet.

Seeing Remus so invested in the baby meant a lot to her, and maybe it was just her hormones talking, but tears pricked at her eyes.

"You're going to be a great dad," she told him suddenly. "Absolutely brilliant."

He looked at her shyly, and Alice was amazed that he could still be bashful around compliments after being married to her and Frank for two years. "I want to be."

"You will be!" Frank stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room. He was grinning, wearing an apron, and had a knife in one hand—in the middle of making dinner, then, Alice thought with amusement.

Frank crossed the room and sat beside their husband, then threw an arm over Remus' shoulder. "You're going to be great; we all will. Neville will be the most loved kid in the history of the world."

Alice smiled at the two men. She looked down at herself and knew it would be true; Neville was going to be born into a family that adored him.

"I can't wait till he's here," she said, leaning back in her seat. "Let's see him keep you two up for a change."

Frank sobered at the thought—Alice had never known anyone who loved sleep as much as Frank—but Remus just shrugged as a lazy smile split his scarred face.

"Sleep is for the weak," he argued. "Frank and I can handle it."

A brow raised; she suspected he'd be changing his tune soon enough after facing the endless night time interruptions babies were famous for. Frank looked like he wanted to argue with Remus' sentiments, but then shook his head and let it go.

"Well." Frank stood and brandished his knife, which was still clenched in his hand. "I've got to finish dinner. Holler if either of you two beauties need me."

Alice eagerly watched Remus' face flush; he wasn't one to accept compliments easily, and Frank _knew_ it was the easiest way to fluster him. Remus kicked at Frank's leg agitatedly but missed—the other man just laughed and bent down to kiss Remus' cheek before dancing away.

Humming with amusement, Alice reached over and laced her fingers through Remus'. "He didn't kiss me," she said with false solemnity. "You need to make up for that, please and thank you."

Remus did as she asked. "You're ridiculous," he murmured. "Both of you are."

"Of course," Alice agreed. "But that's why you love us."

His eyes grew soft. "You're right," he admitted.

Alice patted his hand. "I always am. Now, be a love and fetch the footstool. We're going to drain the fluid from my ankles."

"Merlin." Remus pulled a face, but he ran a hand through her short, dark hair, pecked her on the forehead, and went to find the stool.

Alice watched him go with a smile on her face, then exhaled as she glanced down at her abdomen. "Two more months, Neville, love. Just two more months before we can all hold you for real, and our family will be complete."

She couldn't wait.


	22. Kiss the Cook

**A/N: Hey, y'all! Have some BillHarry. Many thanks to Liza for suggesting the pairing!**

**Toxicology Task 2: Write about being given a bad meal.**

**Word Count: 704**

**Enjoy!**

Bill gathered his hair in his hands and tied it at the nape of his neck. His blue eyes narrowed as he read the recipe on the counter in front of him. He could do this. All he had to do was follow the instructions, and he'd be golden.

Of course, that's what he'd said the last ten times he'd tried to make his boyfriend pancakes for breakfast, but the eleventh time's the charm, right?

"Come on, Weasley," he muttered to himself as he took the eggs from the refrigerator. "Do not burn these."

* * *

Harry rolled over in bed, pressing his face against the pillow. He wasn't ready to be conscious yet; one of the best things about living without the Dursleys was the morning lie-ins, he'd discovered. The blankets had created a cocoon of warmth that he wasn't ready to abandon yet.

The minutes passed, and Harry slowly became more and more aware of his surroundings: the heat of the light shining through the window, the chirping of the birds outside, and the distinct smell of something burning.

That woke him up. Harry sat up in bed and jammed his glasses back on his face, his green eyes blinking disorientedly. It had to be Bill making breakfast, which was unusual in itself, since the older man didn't have the best track record when it came to—well, anything involving Muggle appliances. Cooking, though, was perhaps his biggest weakness.

Still, there wasn't any alarmed shouting, so Harry slowly got out of bed instead of rushing into the kitchen. That was a good sign there wasn't a fire, so he'd give Bill the benefit of the doubt.

He pulled on a robe before heading into the kitchen, a hesitant smile on his face. "Er," he began when he saw Bill standing at the stove. "Good morning. What're you doing?"

"Surprising you with my sudden good fortune when it comes to the culinary arts."

Harry snorted and raised a brow. "_Right._ Good luck with that."

Bill half-turned with a grin, wiping his flour-covered hands on the _Kiss the Cook_ apron he was wearing—which really belonged to Harry. "The first half came out a bit charred, but the second half is not burnt."

There were other ways to ruin pancakes, Harry thought to himself, but he just smiled at Bill. "Bring them over, then."

The older man did, levitating two plates as he did so. He removed the pancakes from their platter and served a couple to Harry and himself. He nodded at Harry solemnly. "Here's to hoping."

Harry did his best not to laugh and inspected the pancakes on his plate. Bill was right; one was burnt, but the other seemed fine, if a bit pale. He summoned a fork and, once it was in his hand, took a bite.

"Merlin." Raw. Harry grabbed a napkin and spat out the food as Bill cursed as he discovered the same. The black-haired man smothered a smile. "I think they, uh. Needed a bit longer."

Bill shot him an unimpressed look. "Really? I hadn't thought of that."

Harry chuckled and got to his feet. He grabbed the undercooked pancakes and then bent down to press a kiss against his lover's forehead. "I'll put them on for a bit longer. I'll fry some bacon, too."

Bill looked like he wanted to protest, but then he just slumped in his seat. "Probably for the best," he admitted. "How did you end up so good at this?"

Memories of cooking for the Dursleys flashed through Harry's mind, but he shook those thoughts away. This morning would not be tainted with his relatives. "Years of practice," he said instead. "You'll get there someday."

"Mmm, maybe. Oh!" Bill's eyes were suddenly glowing with mischief. "You'll need this." He tugged at the apron strings and pulled it over his head before draping it over Harry's instead.

Harry grinned as Bill's arms wrapped around him under the guise of tying the strings. The younger man tilted his head up slightly, capturing Bill's lips in a quick, chaste kiss.

Bill only tugged him closer, muttering something about needing to kiss the cook properly.

Despite the rocky beginning, their morning was shaping up to be very good indeed.


	23. As We Fall Apart

**A/N: Hey, y'all! I'm back. :D Have some MollyLucius, with some angsty Lucissa friendship. **

**Archaeology Task 10: Write about someone writing something important.**

**Word Count: 906**

**Enjoy!**

Lucius held the quill lightly between his fingertips, posed above the parchment. He bit his bottom lip; he knew exactly how heavy the consequences of this letter would be. He should just set the quill down and burn what few words he had managed to write down.

He should pretend like he'd never considered betraying his family.

But as soon as his fingers twitched to do so, images flashed before his eyes: a dimpled smile, freckled cheeks, brown eyes, and fiery red hair—if he wrote this letter, he could have all of that.

If he didn't… if he went back to bed, he'd be married in the morning. Narcissa was beautiful. She was beautiful, proper, strong… but she wasn't alive. Not in the way Molly Prewett was.

He'd never thought anyone could make him want to leave everything behind, but Molly… She'd never let anyone get away with an insult unscathed. She could spar verbally like the best of them, but at the same time, she was kind. She was gentle. She was everything Lucius had been told that he didn't need, and yet, he realized that he did need it.

He needed someone who would fight him, who would take away his control. He'd never realized before how hard he pushed to find the limitations of how hard he could go; how he was willing to go _too_ far to find it. Molly pulled him away from that edge—no, she never even let him get there in the first place.

But most of all, he needed someone to fight for him.

Narcissa was the perfect example of a pureblood. She was poised, powerful, perfect. But Lucius knew, if it came down to it, she would fight for herself, not for him.

And it was with that thought that he pressed the quill to the parchment.

* * *

_My dearest Narcissa,_

_We are to be wed in the morning. Combining our families was all I ever wanted for a very long time. In truth, I know that you'd make a wonderful wife. We'd have a good life, you and I. No other couple could hope to compare to the power we'd wield together. _

_I realize that by writing this, I am giving up everything I've worked for. Wealth, political standing, reputation and respect—it will all go as soon as you read this. But I've made up my mind, Narcissa. I need someone who will keep me from going too far, from attempting too much, not someone who will push me towards the edge of that cliff, not caring if I teter. _

_You are a powerful woman. I have the utmost confidence that you will bring your family even closer to greatness, but I regret to say that you will not do it with me by your side. I hope you do not lose your good opinion of me when I tell you this, as I like to think that you've become a close friend to me over these past few months, but I would like, for once in my life, to chase something permanent._

_Yours,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Narcissa folded the letter as soon as she read it, her lips pressed into a thin line. In all honesty, this didn't surprise her; she'd seen the way Lucius' blue eyes would linger on a certain girl they'd gone to school with. She'd sensed his discontent, his uneasiness. Still, it saddened her to lose yet another person she cared deeply about.

First, Andromeda had run off with a Mudblood. Now, her fiancé escaped into the arms of a blood traitor.

Narcissa sighed heavily, disappointed. She carefully burned the letter—she'd tell her parents about it in the morning and claim that it was destroyed in a fit of despair, but she didn't want to give them the details about the depth of his betrayal—and ignored the voice in her head asking her if Andromeda and Lucius didn't have the right idea after all.

She watched the parchment crumble to ashes as the candle flame ate away at it greedily. Part of her wanted to hate Lucius or be angry with him, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't muster up those emotions.

Narcissa was simply resigned.

But… she was also curious. And she knew exactly where Molly Prewett would be.

Lucius really was clueless if he thought that Narcissa didn't know exactly who he was running to.

Clenching her jaw decisively, Narcissa stood and went to grab a cloak, then Disapparated away. Moments later, she was standing in front of a small house on the outskirts of London: the Prewett residence.

Narcissa walked briskly towards the door. She didn't intend any harm, but she needed to see… she needed to see what Lucius had left for.

She peered carefully through the front window. She caught a glimpse of a plump young woman with her hands on her hips, staring down a frozen, straight-backed Lucius. If Narcissa listened closely, she could hear yelling.

He left for _this_?

But then—Molly Prewett's shoulders slumped and she rushed forwards, throwing her arms around Lucius after swatting his shoulder. He looked relieved, grateful—and hopeful. He was hopeful as he held her, like Molly was the ticket to his happiness.

And Narcissa understood.

She pulled her cloak tighter around herself and walked back to the street before Disapparating back home.

She'd keep Lucius' secret. And despite everything… she hoped he didn't live to regret it.


End file.
